Mornings
by JustGail
Summary: Written for the Spideypool exchange as a gift for necocoxeiji at tumblr. A series of mornings.


Waking up next to Peter Parker was like waking up from a wet dream turned nightmare. That is, Wade Wilson had never been happier but he soon realized no good things last.

Well, not for him.

Never for him.

He was watching Peter sleep, waiting for his eyelids to flutter open and for him to realize, to be in shock, to regret having gone to bed with Wade. With revolting, ugly, disgusting Wade.

No longer able to bare it, Wade looked away, faltering on his way to the bathroom. They were in Peter's apartment, and Wade looked around the bathroom in wonder as he peed. It was a nice apartment, and a very clean bathroom inn particular. For a moment, Wade felt a pang of jealousy, remembering his own digs, the blood stains, the dirt. But then he shook his head and focused on something better: last night. He smiled as the images flooded his mind – the job, the surprise of finding Spider Man there, killing the bad guy together. That would have been, usually, enough of a wet dream already, but then when Spidey removed his mask, and then he told him his name, and that was… More than enough.

Deadpool – Wade – had lost a couple of limbs in the fight and Spidey – Peter – took him to his apartment to recover. And then they slept. They slept and Wade recovered and now he's woken up and his skin is just as mangled and scarred and ugly as it always is.

Wade zipped his pants up and went to wash his hands. He felt the urge to – and so, as an experiment, he removed his mask, stared at himself in the mirror, and imagined just for a moment that this was okay.

But he had a face even a mother wouldn't love, and he sighed and put the mask back on as he walked back into the main room.

And there was Peter, and he was so beautiful. Now, his eyes fluttered open as Wade walked in, and he was met, suddenly, with those beautiful eyes. He couldn't resist staring, could barely resist touching.

It had been a few months since Deadpool and Spider Man had started hanging around each other more often, and every time, Deadpool's feelings became deeper, deeper. And now – now Spider Man had trusted him with his name, with his home. And now it wasn't only Deadpool and Spider Man, but also Wade Wilson and Peter Parker.

As soon as Peter woke, Wade knew none of this could last. Yesterday was a lapse of judgment, one Peter sorely and surely regrets.

Much later, only a moment had passed, and after registering Wade's presence n the room, peter's eyes fluttered closed and a smile tugged at the edge of his lips. "Morning," he muttered.

Wade's heart skipped a beat. "Good morning," he said, careful, careful not to scare him off. "How'd you sleep?"

"Never better."

Wade looked for any hint of sarcasm, searched for it in his voice, in his posture, in his expression.

Peter didn't look like he was making fun of him. He looked curious. "Is everything okay?"

Wade plastered a grin on his features. "Yep, definitely," he said, rubbing a hand on the back of his neck. "I should probably get going."

"Oh," Peter said.

"Oh, what?"

Peter seemed suddenly very interested in a tiny spot on his hand. "Well," he said slowly. "I thought maybe we could get breakfast together."

"Oh," Wade said. "Sure."

Peter smiled.

Wade had never seen a more beautiful sight.

They went out for breakfast. Peter led the way, this being his neighborhood, even though Wade did tell him that he knew a place nearby. He was glad they didn't go there, though; the place Peter chose was wonderful. Well, it itself didn't look like much – Wade wouldn't have noticed it if it weren't for Peter. It was one of those hipster café's, but only in the sense that hipsters frequented it, and less that it had peculiar drinks or anything like that. The coffee was good, the eggs were better, and the atmosphere was –

Well, it was almost like a date. Peter laughed at all of his jokes, told Wade anecdotes about himself and his family, and it was just –

So _honest_. Wade told Peter about his daughter and at some point even took off his mask, and Peter told him about his uncle and at some point ordered more food, and they both made fun of Iron Man, and –

It was _magnificent_.

They matched wits, they referenced a million movies, they ate breakfast and at the end, Peter took Wade by surprise and hugged him.

"I had fun," he said, and Wade could feel his warm breath on his ear. They pulled apart.

"Me too," Wade said, smiling.

"Um," Peter said, his grin matching Wade's. "Can I have your number?"

Wade's heart just plain stopped beating; his grin was still plastered, frozen, on his face. "Wait, what?"

Peter repeated the question. When Wade didn't react, he took out his phone and offered it to him. "Here, use mine to call yours. Then we can both save each other's number. See?"

Somewhat numbly, Wade did just that. Once they'd both saved each other's numbers, Wade pocketed his phone, but when he tried to say goodbye, he was once again taken by surprise by Peter's request. This time, he just wanted him to walk him home, and so –

Well, Wade did. They took their time, chatting idly about nothing important, but eventually, they arrived.

"I guess this is it," Peter said, facing Wade and sounding strangely disappointed. "This was fun."

"Yeah," Wade said softly, "it was." Then, in forced cheerfulness: "Well, I'll see ya!"

He was turning to leave and then Peter put his hand on his forearm, and then, and then, and then –

And then his mouth was on his and –

And then he pulled away.

"What the fuck?" Wade said angrily. "Do you think this is a game?"

Peter staggered, looking hurt. "What – I thought – "

"Do you think that you can just make fun of me like that? God, for _once_ I thought that – "

"I'm not making fun of you!" Peter said. "I had fun, and I thought – well I thought you had, too. I thought – well – it was a good first date, wasn't it?"

Wait.

What?

First date?

When did that happen?

Reading the confusion on Wade's face, Peter's eyes widened. "Oh shit – you didn't know it was a date. Shit. I thought – well, I had asked you _out_ – "

"Yeah, sure, as _friends_!"

"I told you about my family, you dweeb!"

Wade released a breathy laugh. "Fuck, Peter. Fuck."

"I'm sorry for kissing you," Peter said. "I won't do it again – "

"Fuck that," Wade said, stepping closer to Peter again. "Are you – "

"Am I what?" asked Peter, breathless.

"Are you sure?"

Peter nodded, closed his eyes. Wade leaned in and then –

Then they were kissing again.

* * *

"Would you rather," Peter muttered, smiling as Wade traced patterns on his skin about two months later, "eat 75 horrible hamburgers or 120 terrible hotdogs?"

"Hotdogs. Would you rather lick salt off of a really hairy man's back or – " Wade flipped onto his back, his head now lying on Peter's stomach. "Hmm. I can't think of anything horrible enough. Get fucked by a rolling pin."

Peter's laugh tickled the back of his neck. "Definitely lick salt. At least there's no permanent damage from that one."

"Yeah, physical maybe. But what about the _mental_ damage you'd have to deal with?" Wade asked seriously, shuddering as Peter cupped his cheek, the sudden touch taking him by surprise with its softness. "Would you rather –"

"It's my turn, Wade," Peter reminded him softly. "Would you rather – would you rather travel for twenty four hours straight in the worst conditions possible or never leave a small town again?"

"Depends," Wade pretended to think. "Where would you be?"

"I'd be by your side," Peter promised. "In any case."

"In that case – I don't care."

At that, Peter leaned forward and kissed Wade's forehead. Wade closed his eyes, listening for a heartbeat. "Would you rather die in a fire or drown?"

He could feel Peter startle, but he answered easily enough: "Drown. More chance of surviving."

"Really?" Wade shifted so he was looking at Peter from a slightly uncomfortable angle.

Peter shrugged. "Makes sense, doesn't it? Why do you ask, anyway? Planning my demise already?"

"Absolutely not." Wade dropped back to his previous position on Peter's stomach, staring at the ceiling.

"What about you?"

"What about me what?"

"Would you rather drown or die in a fire?"

"Ask me something else."

"What?" Peter asked, sounding so thoroughly confused that Wade could barely stop himself from laughing. "Why?"

"Because."

"Wade," Peter said softly.

Wade sat up, wrapping his arms around his now bent legs. He was suddenly very cold. "Because it isn't theoretical for me, Peter."

"Oh," Peter said. "Right. I'm sorry."

"It's fine."

"No, it isn't."

"It's fine," Wade insisted. Then, "I'm going to shower."

Finally daring a look at Peter, he smiled. "Really, it's fine."

As the water slid down his front, he refused to let himself cry.

* * *

When Wade woke up, Peter was gone. There was a note next to the bed: _Fire on tenth. Should be simple. BRB_. Wade smiled at Peter's careful scrawl, and suited up anyway. When he checked the police scanner, they said the fire was still going on strong, and so he headed there.

Over the past few months, Deadpool had gone super-hero, instead of super-mercenary. He was still feared in some circles, but he hadn't killed anyone on purpose for at least three weeks and counting. He still had his katanas on him, but to be honest, they were more part of the brand now. He hadn't had to use them in at least a month and a half.

The fire was, in fact, still raging when he got there, but he couldn't see Peter – well, Spider-Man – anywhere. He asked one of the cops if there was still anybody inside, and when he was answered with a firm positive, he jumped into one of the broken windows, looking for –

There was, through the smoke and behind a broken down wall, a little child next to body, and when Wade got close, he saw –

No time for that. He grabbed the child. "Are you the only one left?"

"Spider-Man hit his head," she said.

Wade put the child down next to one of the cops.

"Are you going to save him?" she asked.

"Of course," Wade promised, jumping straight back into the fire.

(Peter had said he wanted to die drowning, now he was up in flames.)

But the smoke had piled up and he couldn't breathe, he couldn't find Peter, _he couldn't find –_

When the building started collapsing, his heart stopped.

Where _was_ he, he couldn't _die_ , he was a _superhero_ and superheroes didn't die, they couldn't die, not when you loved them, not when you woke next to them every morning –

* * *

The funeral was small. And it was quiet.

The superhero community at large knew that Spider-Man had died, of course, and held a memorial service for him. (Deadpool did not attend.) This, however, was for Peter Parker. Photographer, hard worker, friend, nephew, boyfriend. There weren't many people in attendance because Peter had never kept many people close to him – they were too easy to hurt. They could hurt him too easily.

The tombstone read, _A true man, a hero_. To stop himself from crying, Wade focused on how proud May was when he told her the truth about her nephew, what he'd done every day and every night since he was fifteen: not survive, or adapt, or get by, but be a hero.

Here are a few names you might recognize who were in attendance besides Wade and May: Mary Jane Watson. Flash Thompson. J. Jonah Jameson. Harry Osborn. Johnny Storm.

There are many people that should have been there. No – the truth is, nobody should have been there. Peter Parker should not have died in the first place.

His life has been surrounded by premature death for so long, perhaps it was inevitable that it would touch him eventually as well.


End file.
